Illegally Alive
by witchywho
Summary: SI/OC fic, non chronological order. Cross posted to AO3.
1. Chapter 1

**Wassup, welcome to my shitty writing! Updating all the chapters because FFN deleted my line breaks, so I'm adding a couple author's notes too while I'm at it. JSYK, this story is in non-chronological order, and it's crossposted to my AO3, polyxena_chatoyant. Enjoy!**

* * *

Sometimes she can't get over how it happened. She thinks about it on bad nights and good mornings - basically, all the time. The way she died was heartbreaking, literally. Standing on a road in the rain, run over by someone she thought she'd loved. The betrayal still stings, a lifetime away.

The golden sunlight raked through the window in a visible beam, setting dust in the air alight. Florence turned on her side in bed to see it better, basking in the sound of birdsong through the open window. She could hear her dad cooking dinner downstairs, the pots and pans clashing, and the distant sound of Mike watching TV with their mom. Pleasantly warm and completely unhindered by responsibility, Florence sighed contentedly.

How many times had she wished she could do over her life? Go back to childhood, before things got complicated by money and life expectations. The days where ice cream was her number one influencer, not the pretty girls she couldn't help staring at on instagram. This was her most desperate wish come true.

She closed her eyes.

Sometimes you shouldn't get what you wished for.

KNOCK KNOCK.

She opened her eyes. Her bedroom door swung up maybe a second following the knocks, her brother having no manners. He stood in the doorway with his schoolbag in hand, a frown on his face.

"Mom's being mean," he griped, stomping into her room with no welcome, plopping down onto the carpet in the sunbeam. "She said we can't watch TV until after we've done our homework."

"So what you're saying," she rolled onto her back and clasped her hands on her stomach with a chesire cat smile, "is that _I _get to watch TV and _you_ can't."

Mike glared darkly at her, unzipping his backpack in one smooth motion and dumping his books and papers onto her clean carpet. She smiled crookedly at him, batting her eyelashes.

"Please help me with my math homework," he said monotonically, as though his life were ending just by asking.

"Hmmmm…" Florence reached up and tapped her chin. "No."

"Oh come on!" Mike half shouted, throwing his hands up. "I don't understand long division! You're good at _everything_, why can't you help me? I thought twins were supposed to stick together!"

"Maybe if you paid attention in class you'd understand the homework," she taunted, pushing herself up and out of the bed to join him on the floor. Her ponytail was messed up from laying down, so she took the scrunchie out of her hair and tied it back at the base of her skull. "Which one are you having trouble with?"

Mike seemed to immediately forget his anger, pointing a pencil at one of the problems. "This one."

"Gotcha. With this one…"

Sitting in the sunlight with her twin, their hair shining gold like the sunlight, she was content.

* * *

"What do you mean _we're moving_?" Mike shouted at the dinner table, his plate of chicken and peas forgotten.

"Exactly what we said," Karen, their mom, said gently. She set her utensils down and folded her hands on the table. "Your father and I are starting a business, but there are too many outdoors outfitters in Sacramento. We have to go where the money is."

"But all my friends are here!" Mike argued, waving his hands emphatically. "I have baseball practice next week! What am I gonna tell the coach?"

"He'll understand." Their mom replied. "I'm sure Forks will have a baseball team for you to join."

"Forks? What kind of name is that?" Mike stuck his tongue out and made a face. "What's their neighboring town called, Spoon? Spork?"

Florence took a large bite of her chicken. It was seasonless, how sad.

"Florence," her dad, Matthew, started. "You've been quiet so far."

Florence looked at her dad, who stared back at her silently. Her parents liked to think she took after him, with how quiet she tended to be, how sure of herself. Mike looked over his shoulder at her, and Karen looked expectant.

Florence didn't really care, to be frank. She didn't have friends to worry about leaving behind, she hadn't gotten involved in after-school activities, and while she was attached to Sacramento in the way she would always be attached to somewhere she'd grown up in, it wouldn't be the end of the world to leave. In her last life, she had dreamed of moving around constantly, seeing place after place. That dream had never left her; moving was a way of life she longed for.

"When do we leave?" she asked.

Matthew smiled and lifted a spoonful of peas to his mouth as Karen answered.

"We'll start packing this week. I've informed the landlord already, so we've got to be out by the end of the month."

Mike howled in anguish, slumping so far in his seat he threatened to slide out completely. Florence nodded and continued to eat her meal.

Packing was always fun. She could declutter her belongings and start fresh in a new town. Maybe the kids would feel less like kids there and more like equals - unlikely, but she could hope. Sometimes she couldn't even stand to be around Mike, with how immature he was. Not that it was his fault for being a kid.

After dinner, she went to her room and started to take out the clothes in her drawers and closets. She separated them into piles; keeping, donating, and trash. There was plenty in the donate pile and few in the keeping or trash when Mike slinked into her room with a prominent pout.

"I can't believe this," he sighed dramatically and dropped backwards onto her bed. "Why do we have to _leave_?"

"Because kids don't get a choice," she muttered without thinking about it.

Mike grunted unhappily in agreement, though she was already rethinking her words. Kids _should _get a choice, but ultimately it was the parents' say that mattered. Some, however, took that to an unreasonable extreme. Karen and Matthew had never shown themselves to be anything other than considerate of she and Mike's wishes, so this might not be any different. Still, she wasn't going to argue it.

"Think of it like an adventure," she advised, shrugging at her twin. "You don't always get to choose where you go, but you can choose what to do about it. You can make newer, better friends; you can be better at baseball there; you can be whoever you want to be."

"Even if I want to be Derek?" he asked.

"Who's Derek?"

"I don't know," Mike shrugged, "someone I could be."

"Then yes, you could be Derek."

"Cool."

* * *

Forks, WA, wasn't even sunny during the summer. It was rain, rain, and - you guessed it - more rain. Florence had never been to a place that had so little sun and so much clouds. It was like wearing sunglasses 24/7. While it did wonders for her sensitive eyes, it did horrors for her mood. She hated the wet and the cold. Had she been told of what Forks was actually like when her parents had announced the move, her reaction would have mirrored her brother's.

Her new room, where she spent most of her time since she hated being rained on, was on the second floor at the back of the house, overlooking the water-logged garden and treeline beyond their fence. From her bedroom windows, of which there were three, she could see well into the neighbors' yards and a few feet into the forests surrounding the small town. She'd set up a desk beneath them, carefully organized and to her aesthetics.

The rest of the room was comparably messy, mostly boxes surrounding an unmade bed, the walls a blank white. At least the hardwood was nice, she decided, running her bare feet over it. _And_ she and Mike's rooms were across the hall from each other, not side-to-side. She was finally free of hearing him shouting over his video games.

_Well_, she thought to herself. _Might as well start unpacking. I'm gonna be here a while. _


	2. Chapter 2

Florence gets her first job at 14, during the summer before her first year of high school. It's just as a dishwasher at the local diner, but it's a paying job, something she'd been craving for a while. Money that was her's and not given to her by her parents. Something she could save or spend as she pleased.

Still, it left her soaked, usually. The industrial sprayer tended to spray not only the dishes but her clothes as well. So when her dad picked her up after work, she tended to be frowning.

"There's my working girl," her father greeted her warmly. He was wearing his own uniform, khakis and a green polo.

"Hi, dad." Florence grunts, slumping into the truck seat next to him. It smelled like his cologne in the car, familiar and nostalgic. "How was your day?"

"Mighty fine, mighty fine," he grinned. "And how was yours?"

"Some idiot mixed all the seasonings and condiments together on three plates," she grumbled, picking at a loose thread on her shirt sleeve. "Probably some kid."

"Nothing to be done about it but wash it off," he offered, reaching over to pat her on the shoulder. "Are you excited about school starting soon?"

Florence tried to contain an eye-roll. School was one of the few things she didn't enjoy about having to relive childhood. Perhaps it was the lack of choice of study in the matter, or how her peers were woefully lacking in brain development to interest her, but school just wasn't her thing. She went, she did her work, but she didn't hang out or vibe with any of it. Hell, if she tried to talk to people she usually slipped up and used slang two decades ahead of time.

"Not particularly," she replied. "Same ol', same ol'."

"Maybe not," he said. "I hear there's a new family moving to town. A fancy doctor and his whole family."

She tilted her head. They'd been the last new family to move to town, and somehow it never gets old for the residents that the Newtons are "new." Maybe with these guys moving to town, people would finally stop treating them differently.

"Do you know who they are?"

"Only the doctor, Carlisle Cullen. Susan," he said, name dropping a Nurse who frequents the store, "keeps raving about his resume."

"Nice," she replies lacklusterly. "Mike found a job yet?"

Her dad gave a hearty laugh, which was all the answer she needed.

* * *

One thing she did love about school - it usually meant new clothes. Her parents weren't shy in buying her things, but they'd had control over her wardrobe all her life until now. She'd never had a problem with it, per se, but she and her parents didn't see eye-to-eye on aesthetics. It wasn't that she wanted to wear revealing clothing, or something they'd not allow her out of the house in, it was just that they had vastly different styles.

Karen held up a pair of low-riding, boot cut jeans. They were bedazzled on one ass cheek. Around them, the thrift store was teeming with other shoppers. They'd travelled all the way to Seattle to get the best thrift stores after scouring the single Forks one and three Port Angeles ones.

Florence made a face, hoping to properly convey vomit. "Sorry, mom, but not a chance in hell."

"But honey!" her mom whined, scrunching the pair of jeans in her hands. "These would look so cute on you! And I'm _sure_ I've seen Britney Spears wearing pairs like these in magazines."

"Not necessarily my style, mom," Florence shrugged, turning back to the rack with her measuring tape. She wanted high-waisted jeans and she wasn't leaving with a pair otherwise.

Clothes were a not-so-guilty pleasure of her's. She loved thrifting, loved sorting through the clothes, finding strange pieces and the occasional masterpiece. She'd learned to sew just so that she could take pieces she wouldn't normally wear and turn them into something she would. There was a sewing machine in her room for that very purpose, plus a trunk full of sewing and embroidery supplies. Plus, when she went thrifting it was easier to piece together fashion that wasn't yet in fashion. Just because no one else understood why she liked what she liked didn't mean she had to change her style.

She was wearing her go-to thrifting outfit; a simple black t-shirt, a comfy pair of jeans, and plain white sneakers. It was, in her opinion, a basic outfit, but still cute. Plus, when she was trying jeans on she got to see how they'd look without being distracted by a more intricate top, and vice versa regarding tops to bottoms. She'd left her hair loose down her back, but had brought a black scrunchy on her wrist to put her hair up if needed.

Which was needed, she decided, as her hair kept getting into her face. She reached back and tucked her blonde locks into a bun at the base of her neck. As she did, the tag of a Levi's caught her eye. Snatching it up she measured out from the button to the crotch and grinned. High-waisted! And potentially in her size, she decided, holding it up to her hips.

Florence threw the pair into the cart along with all her other things. She had a plethora of cardigans, sweaters, turtlenecks, long skirts, scarves, and other items already to try on. This was only the second thrift store they were planning to hit today. Saving up almost all of her paychecks had paid off.

* * *

Her first glimpse of the Cullens was in the lone crafting store in Forks. She was there for a number of things; fabric paint, embroidery floss, sewing thread, and new denim needles since her last one broke. Kraftz, as the store was called, had a small stock but it was a little bit of everything one could need. It was small and cramped, and there was a bell above the door that rang every time it was opened.

Case in point, the couple walking in right now.

Florence couldn't help but stare. They were both beautiful, the man with golden hair and the woman with a warm smile. They were as pale as sheets, with golden eyes. They held hands, loose but stuck together. The woman led the pace, leading the man straight to the embroidery - right where Florence was stuck staring in awe.

Shaking her head, she turned back to the floss. Kraftz had a new stock in today, glittery floss. It would be perfect for a starry night idea she had for a jean jacket.

"Oh, Carlisle, look!" a bell-like voice said with interest. "Glitter!"

A pale hand entered her vision, and Florence watched it grab a glittery red floss. She turned her head, and met the eyes of the woman, who smiled.

"Uh," she said eloquently.

"Sorry for the intrusion," the woman said. "I can't help myself when I get excited."

The man chuckled, next to her. "She really can't."

Florence swallowed around the lump in her throat. They were so pretty she was almost scared. "It's alright, I get the same with embroidery. I haven't seen y'all around here; you must be the Cullens?"

The man smiled. "Infamous already, I see?"

"Only in a small town," she replied with a grin, finally easing into the conversation. "I'm Florence Newton, it's nice to meet you."

"I'm Dr. Carlisle Cullen, and this is my wife, Esme," he introduced, and Esme smiled warmly at her. He held his hand out.

When she took it, goose bumps rose on her skin. His hand was ice cold. She thought he should be wearing gloves.

"Well, it was nice meeting you, but I've got all I need and my parents are waiting for me outside," she threw a thumb over her shoulder at the door. "Y'all have a lovely day!"

"And you, dear," said Esme. She had a very warm presence, unlike her husband's skin.

She went and paid for her things, carrying two sacks out the door to the minivan where Karen and Matthew were waiting. Mike was sat in the back, texting on his flip phone. Florence still didn't like flip phones and barely used her own. She missed her touch-screen smart phone and dozens of apps. Paying for accidentally pushing the web button on a Razr phone wasn't her cup of tea.

"I met Dr. Cullen," she said as she shut the door.

"Oh?" Matthew replied, peering over her shoulder in the driver's seat. "They were there?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "He and his wife, Esme, were looking at the new embroidery floss, too. They seemed nice."

"I wonder if they have any daughters," Mike mused, and Florence rolled her eyes and smacked him lightly on the arm.

* * *

She'd been right about no longer being interested once the Cullens moved to town. Pulling up to school the next week, there was a bright, shiny volvo parked in the lot drawing attention from everyone. When Karen dropped she and Mike off, even their mother couldn't help but whisper a stunned 'wow' at the car. No one in Forks had such a new, shiny vehicle.

Florence was still peering at the volvo in interest when Karen drove away.

"Tyler!" Mike shouted, and she jolted at the sound. "Hey, man!"

Mike's best friend was running up. Great. Florence still wasn't interested in making friends in high school, especially in Forks. The kids here were judgemental as hell. She'd have plenty of time to make friends when she was travelling the world as an adult.

Florence patted Mike on the shoulder, "See you at lunch."

Heading inside the building, she found her name on the sheets of paper taped to the inner doors of the school listing their lockers. She found her number, 25, and went searching for it. It was in the first building, thankfully, so she wouldn't have to wander through the rain.

Opening it up, she saw her schedule sitting inside. Her first class was in the same building, thank god, with the art classroom being her homeroom. Conveniently, art was her first class following, so she wouldn't have to leave. Florence set her backpack inside the locker after taking out her sketchbook and art supplies baggie, locking the locker with the code written on her schedule. As she turned away, she saw two lockers down, the most beautiful girl she'd ever seen.

She was tall, with gorgeous blonde waves, and an even prettier face. And her fashion was impeccable, at least for this time period. She made low-riding jeans look _good_, which was a feat she'd never thought imaginable.

Before she could stop herself, Florence stepped forward. "I love your jeans!"

The girl looked over at her coldly. Florence could have flinched from the ice in her golden gaze. She didn't reply, or maybe didn't have the time to, before a behemoth of a man cuddled up next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

He was equally beautiful to the girl he was planting a kiss on. Muscular in a way teenage boys tended to not be, with messy dark hair and a strong jawline, Florence was really in her biggest bi-crisis yet. He didn't seem to notice her, though, and the girl in his arms looked away from her to smile warmly up at him.

She was even prettier smiling, Florence decided.

But shit. Class.

Florence turned and scuttled off, and she could feel the warm blush on her cheeks.

The art room was large with floor-to-ceiling windows facing out to the forests, wooden tables in the center of the room with easels propped up along the walls. There were already a couple of kids in the room, she saw, as she went up to the teacher's desk to look at the seating chart. Lauren Mallory, she saw with a sigh of despair, shared her homeroom. Great.

Looking at the seating chart, though, she realized she was sat next to a Cullen. Alice, it said. Looking around, she spotted the girl easily from her beauty. She was sitting in one of the far corners - and she was wearing high-waisted jeans! A silky camisole top in green with a cowl neck, and a black, wide-knit cardigan over it! Now _this_ was someone Florence could get along with.

With a pep in her step, Florence approached her table and set her things down next to Alice.

"Hello," she greeted with a smile - and nearly froze when Alice set her golden eyes on her. What was with that color? All of the Cullens seemed to have it.

Alice smiled, though, and her bright teeth sent shivers down Florence's spine. Fear or attraction? Maybe both. God, she was a disaster.

"Hi," Alice said. "You're Florence, right?"

Florence blinked at the girl already knowing her name, but realized she'd probably guessed it from the seating chart. "Yup! How's it going? I love your outfit, by the way."

"Thank you so much!" Alice said with a smaller smile as Florence settled into her seat. "It's alright, first day and all."

Florence nodded sympathetically. "I get it, my family and I moved here a couple years back. It can be a bit underwhelming and overwhelming at the same time."

Alice shrugged. "I'm pretty used to it, my family moves around quite a bit."

Florence sighed. "Lucky, traveling is all I want to do with my life."

"I'm sure you'll get to," Alice said with certainty and a mischievous smile. Florence couldn't help but grin back. "I'm Alice, though you probably already knew that."

"Guilty as charged," Florence held her hands up. "We should hang out sometime, get coffee or something. I work at the Diner in town, we'll get it free."

Alice made a face, and Florence already knew what she was going to say. "Sorry, I can't. I've got things to do at home."

Florence smiled, more a grimace really. "It's alright, no worries."

Mrs. Clarke entered the room then, signaling for class to start. Alice didn't speak to her the rest of the class period.

School, was, well. School. The rest of the day finished out without any surprises, aside from seeing she had PE with Edward Cullen. She didn't approach him, remembering how Alice had sidestepped her invitation to hang out. She could only take so much rejection at a time, especially when she hadn't asked anyone to hang out at all in this lifetime. She went home silently.


	3. Chapter 3

The dinner table was quiet. Florence pushed her fork around her plate with boredom, and though she felt a tad hungry she wasn't in the mood to eat. She'd been wanting to go thrifting for days now, but whenever the topic was brought up… Well, maybe they'd changed their minds.

"Since we're out of school now," she started, and saw her family lift their heads from their plates, "I was wondering if you wouldn't mind me taking a day trip to Seattle this week."

Matthew sighed, closing his eyes.

"No," said Karen, setting her utensils down. "We've already had this discussion, Florence, you aren't taking the car-"

"I think you mean _my_ car," Florence interrupted, feeling testy. She'd spent almost 18 years like this, deferring to her parents wishes and wants. She'd had enough of it, being a child again. She could remember what it was like to not answer to anyone about her decisions, and it irked her as it always had that she now could not do anything without permission. "Which _I _paid for, whose insurance _I _pay, whose gas for _I _pay."

"Enough," Matthew said forcefully, slamming his hand onto the table. She couldn't help her jump. Mike looked at her from the corner of his eye. "Listen to your mother. You're not going."

"May I ask why you've come to this decision?" she demanded as politely as she could, restrained anger clear in her tone. "Perhaps understanding your reasoning will help me."

Karen sighed, rubbing the space between her eyes. "Go to bed, Florence."

"But-"

"_Now_," Karen interrupted, "Before I ground you. Again."

Florence could have spat on her. She wanted to, desperately. To show her just how little she cared for parental authority. Perhaps when she had been newer to this life, to the constraints, she wouldn't have argued at all. 18 years was a long time, though.

But being grounded… She would just have to earn it, wouldn't she? If it was going to happen either way, she was going to do what she wanted. God, she hated being a kid again.

Tossing down her utensils and not bothering to clean up her plate, Florence pushed back from the table and let the chair screech against the floor. Aside from that, she walked calmly to her room.

She locked the door behind her and turned on her radio on her desk. Setting it as loud as it would go, she slid the window up and open. It was only a two-story drop from there, and she knew there were no windows below. Grabbing her purse, she slid out the window and propped her feet on the piping that went up the back of the house, closing the window behind her and leaving a small gap open for her to climb back in later - that is, if she wasn't caught. She'd probably be caught. Seattle was hours away, there's no way her parents wouldn't notice her being gone. They probably weren't going out to their cars any time soon tonight, so they hopefully wouldn't notice her car not being parked on the corner.

Dropping down from the ledge, she slammed into the ground with a thump. She didn't wait to hear if her parents had heard, running around the far side of the house and towards her car. She jumped in as soon as it unlocked, and started it up. Within ten minutes, she was out of town and headed towards Seattle.

The drive was long, but not quiet. She turned the radio on and jammed out to the hits of her first childhood. It was nice and nostalgic.

Seattle at night was very different from Seattle during the day. She felt a little unease walking around - she hadn't really thought this through, she realized. Most of the thrift stores were closed by now.

_But_, she realized, passing behind the latest one she'd checked that had closed 15 minutes ago, _they do have dumpsters._

Dumpster diving wasn't usually her prerogative, but in her last life she'd heard of people doing it and finding cool things. She might as well give it a try since she was here.

Heading for the dumpster, Florence lifted the lid up and gently set it down backwards so that it wouldn't clang loudly. Propping her sneaker on a wooden box next to it, she hefted herself into the dumpster, straddling the edge of it. It was filled to the brim with trash bags, so at least she wouldn't have trouble getting out.

She'd gone through three unhelpful trashbags when cold hands grabbed her from behind - and razors slid into her throat.

Florence screamed, high and shrill. The mouth on her throat clamped down harder and tears slipped out of her eyes. The hands held her down in the trash as she tried to thrash out of their grasp, hard and unyielding. The pain was too much.

Her vision went black, quite like it had when she'd first died.

* * *

She was in Hell. She had never given the concept much thought in this life, avoiding any thoughts of the afterlife as it were, but Hell must be real. The fires burned from within her very own body, lighting her up inside-out.

She cried and screamed as best as she could, her mouth gagged. She tried to get away from the fire, but her limbs were tied and no matter how much she struggled or inched away, the fire followed.

As hell went on and on, seemingly endless, she began to quieten. It was almost like she was getting used to the fire. She wondered how she had died this time, unable to remember past the hands and the bite. Had a cannibal eaten her? It was funny, in a morbid way, how she was always the cause of her own death. Fighting against Karen, in this one; trying to help someone who didn't want her help in her last.

Eventually, what once seemed endless quieted and sunk in a deep cold past her bones and to her soul. When the fire receded to only her throat, and she realized her limbs had been unbound and her mouth freed, Florence opened her eyes.

She was staring at an intricate wooden ceiling of a storage shed. _She wasn't dead. _She could see every curve and indention in the wood, every splinter making up the whole. _She wasn't dead! _Bracing her hands against the floor, Florence pushed up - only for her hands to go through the floor. Lifting up with core muscles she didn't know she had, she shook her hands out of the holes in the wood flooring, shaking off splinters and wood dust. She examined her hands, but couldn't find a single cut or splinter embedded in her skin.

"You took your sweet time," said a voice, and she jerked, spinning on her knees to look behind her and crouch down protectively. Something inside her wanted to be low to the ground, where she could push off with more force to protect herself.

There was a blond man standing in the corner of the shed, regarding her with solemn red eyes. His skin was pale and she could see every detail in his face from this far away in high-definition. Every thread of the shirt he was wearing, every minuscule tear in his jeans. She could _smell _him, even. He smelt like death and raspberries. He smelt like danger.

A growl ripped through her chest, animalistic and low. She didn't want this guy anywhere near her.

The man rolled his eyes. "Oh, shut up. That's not going to help anything here."

"Who are you," she spat. "What did you _do _to me?"

He smiled then, and she could have almost called him handsome if she didn't already hate him with every fiber of her being.

"I made you into a near God," he said grandly, raising his arms in a smooth motion. "I am your sire, making you anew. My personal first."

She didn't understand, but it was peicing together in her brain either way. Her improved sight, the smells, crushing the floor… She wasn't human anymore.

"You said near-God," she whispered. "_What am I_?"

"You're a vampire." He said it like it was a prize she'd won. "And you're part of my coven. I'll take you to the others - just as soon as you've fed. You must be starving."

She was. At the mere thought of eating had her salivating and the burn in her throat ignited into a raging forest fire. Florence clutched her throat tightly, clamping down on it as if that would put the fire out. Vampire. _Vampire_. What did vampires eat? Human blood.

_Nope_, she thought in horror. _Not happening._

As much as she wanted it, as much as every fiber of her being begged her to listen to this man - who hadn't even asked her _name_, nor did she know his - she didn't want to. She just really didn't want to. Florence hadn't listened to many people in this - her second life. Why should she do that in her third?

"Not happening," she said. "I'll take my leave."

She stood - but he was in front of her then, holding her against a wall by her throat and wrists.

"You don't understand," he smiled prettily in her face. Something about his features was almost familiar but she didn't have time to think about it. "You don't get a choice here. You're _mine_."

Florence snarled at him, rage like a more metaphorical fire in her gut. It consumed her in a way it never had before. This man dared to call her an object to be owned? How fucking _dare_ he? She was going to tear him _apart_.

Remembering how she'd crushed the floors, she didn't press forward against him but backwards and down. Her hands cut through the wooden walls behind her, raking downwards and out of his grip in a millisecond. He tried to grab at her with his suddenly free hand - but when it came to her direction, she opened her mouth and grabbed it between her teeth and _tore_, using her hands to grip his wrist and snap it like a twig.

The man howled like a dog, ripping himself backwards away from her, but she didn't let go of either of her grips. Instead, he simply tore himself away from his hands - half of his left was still in her mouth, his right clutched between her hands, nails dug into the flesh like claws. He didn't bleed, the sound of his body tearing into pieces like granite crumbling; instead, a clear liquid seemed to coat the broken bits.

In the milliseconds between him stumbling backwards and her launching herself towards him she had spat out the hand and dropped the other one. How the hell was she supposed to kill a vampire?

She'd start, she decided, by decapitating him. Most things couldn't live without their heads, after all. Time to find out if vampires were the same.

Florence tackled the man to the floor, legs wrapped around his arms and clamping them to his sides. He turned his head and caught her arm in his jaw, thrashing against her grip, but she held tight with superior strength. Gripping his head by the hair, she ripped him out of her arm, taking a chunk of her skin with it.

She held him by the hair and the jaw, and twisted until the sound of concrete tearing signalled the end of his snarls. His body beneath her stopped struggling and simply started to twitch before stilling.

Florence looked at the head that dangled from her grip in its hair. Blank red eyes stared into her own, and her flesh dangled out of its mouth. Using her free hand she pulled her flesh free and frowned down at her arm. It was a good chunk of skin, but would it grow back? She was dead, technically. There was no blood oozing from the wound, just a clear liquid that smelled sickly sweet.

Tossing the head behind her, Florence decided to see if she could slot it back into her arm. Duck tape was always a solution, or maybe she could sew it back in? However, when she pressed it into the wound, it seemed to stick like glue. Before her eyes, the clear liquid seeped around the seams where the man's bite had been and hardened like crystal, trapping the flesh back to where it had came from. She could see the scar clearly, but it was whole again.

_Interesting_, she thought.

Still, now that this guy was deader than dead, she needed to get out of here.

Standing up, Florence left the shed and stepped foot into someone's backyard. Lights were on in the house, and she could hear the people inside. Someone banging pots and pans around a kitchen, someone sleeping, someone writing in something. People. Humans. _Blood_.

Before she could think, she was inside the house. Their backdoor had been left unlocked. From the back entry way, she took a deep breath. The house smelled lived-in, like this family had been here a while. Pictures of them lined the hall she stood in; they were all smiling and happy.

She wasn't happy. She was _hungry_, starving in fact.

It didn't take long. None of them had enough time to scream, but their blood stayed warm long enough after for her to guzzle it all down. By the end of three human lives, she found her throat was still ablaze. She was full enough to think straight, though, surrounded by the smell of blood. There was a mirror in the living room, where she had wandered. She stared into it and at herself; it was still her, but redefined. Paler skin, more pronounced cheekbones, as if the fat had burned away. Something about it seemed familiar. Her hair seemed more warm gold now than simply blonde, but it was also streaked with blood. Everything was, really. Her clothes were soaked, her face was covered, and there was even blood under her nails.

She needed to shower.

There was a bathroom upstairs, so that's where she headed first. Showering felt long overdue. How long had it been since when that guy had grabbed her? She'd figure that out once she was clean.

Once she was done, she wrapped a towel around herself and abandoned the blood-stained bathroom for the bedrooms. Of the three she had killed, one had been a teenage girl. A speck of guilt hit her as she entered the bedroom and peered at the body by the computer desk. She even looked like she'd been around Florence's age.

The closet was filled with clothes that definitely weren't her style. She found a pair of jeans that fit her loosely, a belt, and a v-neck, black, long-sleeved shirt. She grabbed a red ball cap and a pair of sunglasses to hide the vibrant red of her eyes. None of the shoes in the house fit her, so she kept the bloodstained sneakers on and left. After all, she couldn't stay here in a house of dead bodies.

As she walked down the street, she surveyed the stars in the sky. Normally, pollution covered the majority, but she could see them all in shining brightness. It was beautiful.

* * *

**A/N: Hope y'all don't mind the non-chronological order of the story. Maybe when it's finished I'll take it and rearrange the chapters to be chronological, but I like posting once I've finished writing one and I don't like writing in order. It's easier to write the bits I _want_ to write first and then write the filler. **


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: This chapter is set early in Twilight, when Bella first moves to Forks. **

* * *

Early morning was Florence's favorite time of the day. She always made sure to set her alarm for before dawn, as she loved to watch the sunrise. But even the sunrise paled in comparison to the blue-tinted glow that lit up the sky prior. She had moved everything off the center of her desk and was sitting on it, legs dangling out the open window, watching the sky lighten from deep black to purple. It was drizzling lightly, and since it was January it was still cold, so she had put on a sweater over her slip. Feeling the rain drops hit her feet felt nice.

Leaning backwards, Florence opened one of her desk drawers and fished out a wooden locked box and an empty ashtray. It was a simple box, with a gold latch and gold flower motif engraved on the top of it. They key to it hung around her neck on a long chain that usually hid under her shirt. When she unlocked it, she sifted through the box. Pushing past the weed pipe and joint papers, the folded up notes of information pertaining to the future, and the solid gold ring she'd gotten for her 14th birthday, she picked out the half-empty pack of camel crush menthols and her lighter.

She took one out, scooted a little further on the desk to sit further out the window, and lit it up. Grimacing at the taste, Florence inhaled as quickly as she could - the easiest way to get past the taste - and exhaled. She wished vapes were a thing already; if she was going to destroy her lungs, she wanted the product of her choice. Florence would make do, though.

The nicotine buzz was fairly quick, and she sat there for a good twenty minutes smoking and watching the sky turn a pale blue. The clouds in the sky almost made it grey but that was just fine. As she sat she thought about the upcoming day. She had a make-up test in biology today that she hadn't studied for, but she had looked over the failed test and was sure that she could at least get a passing grade this time. Aside from that, there wasn't a whole lot to do. Study French verbs, read a "classic," and avoid Lauren Mallory.

When her cigarette had burned to the butt, she stubbed it out in the ashtray and pulled her feet in from the window. She grabbed a ziploc bag from her drawer and dumped the ashtray into it and stuffed it back into her drawer, leaving the window open to ventilate the smell of cigarettes from the room. Then she withdrew another two cigarettes from the pack, putting them, the lighter, and the ziploc of ashes into the front pocket of her backpack that hung from her desk chair.

Crossing the room to her dresser, Florence picked up the candle on the desk and lit it. It was a sea-themed candle and smelled heavily of sea salt and ocean spray. Her second alarm went off on her bedside clock, signalling 7AM. Mike, she knew, wouldn't be up for another 15 minutes, giving her time to shower. Her parents didn't get up until 8:30AM to get ready for work, so she wasn't particularly worried about them smelling the cigarettes.

Once she had showered, Florence came back to her room and began picking out her outfit for the day. She could hear Mike's alarm clock going off - before it was shut off. Probably snoozed, really.

She found a long midi skirt in her closet, a floral mixture of burgundy and dark green, and a white, v-neck, long-sleeved shirt. Putting it on, she grabbed her hooded, sherpa-lined jean jacket and tossed it onto the bed and then put on her socks and black boots. Sitting down at her desk, she pulled her things back into place, the curtains gently blowing back into the room from the breeze outside.

She looked into the mirror and tilted her head to and fro. Today she would wear two sets of earrings, a small pair of hoops and two small dangling stars. Once those were in, she selected a necklace to pair with the chain of her key, a chain of stars that sat at the base of her neck, just barely not a choker. Florence slipped on a wide-band gold ring onto her left thumb, and a dainty gold ring with a rose-quartz stone set into it on her right middle finger.

Then, she heard a knock on her door.

"Flo?" Mike asked gruffly through the door, definitely still half asleep.

"Up and ready," she called back, leaning over the desk to shut her window. "I'll get breakfast started."

"'Kay," he mumbled back and she heard him walk down the hall, towards the bathroom.

Florence blew the candle out, grabbed her backpack, and went downstairs to the kitchen.

This morning was just eggs, bacon, and toast for breakfast. Setting her bag down on the kitchen table, Florence got out two cooking pans and set them on the stove to high temperature. From the fridge, she grabbed four eggs, the butter, and the bacon. They were cooking in the pan and half-way done when Mike thundered down the stairs and into the kitchen.

"Morning!" he said, grinning brightly. He was always more awake after a shower. "Can you make mine scrambled?"

"Too late," she said, sprinkling some cheese onto the sunny-side up eggs.

"Damn," he cursed, and went to grab the plates.

Florence ate in relative silence, listening to Mike ramble on about his plans for the day. He was picking up Eric, Jessica, and Angela before school, they were doing something for the newspaper together, and they were all going to the diner together after school to do their homework. When prompted, she mentioned the make-up test and her shift at Newton's Outfitter's that night. Mike made a face at the mention of their family's business that they both had started at recently. Sure it paid well, but working with their parents was a drag.

Mike left first, needing to make his pick-up rounds. Florence rinsed the dishes off in the sink and left them for Matthew to do when he got up, before leaving the house. The driveway was packed with her parents' cars, so she had hers parked down the street. Pulling the hood of her jacket up, she walked to the car; it was barely drizzling anymore, but it would start up again soon.

Passing by their trash dumpster, she fished the ashes bag out of her backpack and tossed it in, shifting the trash bags to cover it.

The drive to school was infinitely boring, and the traffic light. She made it to school to a half-full parking lot and parked next to a new car in the lot - a rusted, dark orange Chevy pick-up. It was quite nice, she thought - and then noticed there was a girl sitting inside, so she stopped staring. Perhaps it was the new girl, Isabella Swan. Everyone knew she was coming to town, but none knew exactly when.

Instead of thinking more on it, though, she went straight to homeroom.

* * *

Florence walked through the halls of Forks High towards the lunchroom, following the rush of students and trailing towards the back. Behind her, she knew the Cullens were moseying their way towards the lunch room as well, but she didn't look at them. Numerous failed attempts to make friends out of the adopted siblings had turned her away from trying again, so she settled on treating them like almost everyone else in the school - acknowledgement but disregard.

She bought her lunch quickly, ditching the tray to instead carry the paper plate of food and water bottle, waving to Mike at his table of "populars" before heading out the back door. She always ate in her car, so that she could smoke a cigarette. Clay was already waiting at the Land Cruiser, leaning against the passenger door with a sack lunch in hand, hood up against the rain.

"'Sup, Ambrose," she greeted, unlocking the car with her clicker as she neared.

"What's good, Newton," he greeted as they hopped into the car.

They settled into the seats, putting their food up on the dashboard. She turned the car on and put the heat on, and unzipped the front pocket of her backpack. She handed him one cigarette and lit up her own before handing him the lighter. He didn't really need her's, he always had one on him, but it was nice to share.

They ate and smoked in silence. Nothing really needed to be said. He handed her a new pack of camel crushes, and she handed him the money, plus a few extra dollars.

"Need any skunk?" he asked.

"Not today," she said, "but thanks."

"Not a problem for my favorite customer," he grinned at her, green eyes glimmering. She smiled back. "How'd that test go?"

"Haven't had it yet," she told him. "It's next period."

"Good luck, then."

"How're things with you?" she asked.

He shrugged, taking a bite of his sandwich; egg salad, she saw, on rye. "Same as yesterday. I ripped a hole in my jeans, though, think you could patch it?"

She nodded, taking a bite of her apple. "Bring them by tomorrow."

"Will do," he replied.

Class was going to start soon. They both knew it. Still, they finished their lunches slowly before parting ways to separate buildings.

Biology hadn't begun yet, thankfully, when she got there. Mike waved at her from his seat, and she nodded back, distracted. There was someone sitting in her seat. A girl, a bit on the short side, with long brown hair and a pretty face. Isabella Swan, most likely. Florence made her way down the middle aisle and stopped at the table. Edward Cullen glanced at her silently, a pained expression on his face as usual. She wondered what crawled up his ass today.

"Excuse me," she said to the girl in her seat. "We've got assigned seating. You'll have to ask Mr. Banner where you'll be sitting."

"Oh," she said, blushing bright red, startled. She pushed her stool back and grabbed her things from the table. "Sorry."

"It's chill," Florence said, as they swapped places. The girl wandered back up to the teacher's desk, and Florence started to unpack her bag.

Edward had relaxed minutely as the girl walked away. Florence glanced at him for a moment before shrugging her concern away; it's not like he would tell her what was wrong, after all. She'd tried talking to him before, and their conversations were always lackluster.

The rest of the class was doing anatomy practice, but Banner came by with her test soon enough.

* * *

The next day at school, Edward Cullen was missing. Not particularly unusual, but the weather wasn't sunny, and all his siblings had been there. She'd seen the volvo in the parking lot, had Alice in French 4; there wasn't some Cullen family hiking trip today. He was probably sick.

However, that meant she had a free seat at her table in Bio today. Florence had been looking forward to spreading her books out, but Banner smashed that dream with a hammer. He'd placed Isabella Swan at her table that day.

"Isabella, right?" Florence greeted as she sat down next to the girl.

She looked up from her book. "It's Bella, actually."

Florence nodded. "I'm Florence Newton, Mike's sister. I take it you're friends with him?"

He'd talked about her all last night, almost irritating her. He wouldn't shut up about the pretty new girl who sat at his lunch table and had joined his table for Bio.

Bella nodded minutely. "He's nice."

"Annoying, more like." Florence grinned as Mike shot her a glare across the room, clearly listening in. "How are you liking Forks so far?"

"It's very… green." Bella stumbled through the sentence like she seemed to stumble through life.

Florence nodded encouragingly. "Yeah, it is. Wet, too. My family moved here back in '95 from Sacramento, so I get what it's like being new here."

Bella finally looked her in the eyes. "I used to live in Riverside as a kid. California is nice."

_SoCal, huh?_ She thought. "And you moved here from Arizona, right? What was that like?"

"Dry," she replied. "Warm."

"Tan?" Florence asked with a small grin. Bella grinned back.

"Quiet," Banner called to the students from the front. "Class is beginning."

The bell rang, and Florence opened up her textbook, Bella doing the same next to her. They shared another glance as class begun.

* * *

**A/N: Anything y'all want to see? I'll take requests into consideration. Leave a review on your way out.**


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